She Whispered “There’s a Bomb” to the Ruthless Billionaire—What He Did Next Shocked Everyone!

The woman in the green dress leaned close enough to kiss him and whispered, “There’s a bomb under the ballroom.”

Adrian Voss didn't blink. He watched the champagne bubbles rise in the glass he wasn't drinking. “How long?”

“Eleven minutes. Maybe less.”

Across the ballroom, a string quartet played something soft and expensive. A senator laughed beneath a chandelier. Cameras flashed. Every smiling face belonged to someone who could afford to have a secret buried.

Adrian turned his head toward the woman. Auburn curls, shaking hands, emerald satin. She looked like she'd gotten lost on the way to a wedding and found a firing squad instead.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Mara Bennett. I'm working the event.”

“Catering?”

“Tonight? Apparently bomb disposal.” She swallowed. “Please don't make me say it twice.”

Adrian scanned the exits. Four guards wearing the wrong shoes. Two by the orchestra. One behind the mayor. His brother, Lucian, stood near the marble stairs in a black suit, staring at them with his usual expression: as if Adrian had just broken something priceless.

“How do you know?” Adrian asked.

“I heard a man on the phone in the service hall. He said the device goes off when the auction reaches lot thirteen.”

“That's not a time.”

“No. It's worse. They're starting lot twelve.”

The auctioneer's voice rolled across the room. “And now, our next exceptional offering—”

Adrian caught Mara's wrist and headed toward the stage. A guard stepped into their path.

“Private area, sir.”

“Move.”

The guard reached into his jacket. Adrian drove him into a pillar before the gun cleared its holster. Glass shattered. Someone screamed. The quartet missed a beat and kept playing, because rich people had paid them not to stop.

“Fire alarm,” Adrian told Mara. “Pull it.”

She ran. He vaulted onto the stage and took the microphone.

“Everybody outside. Now.”

A few guests laughed. Then Mara yanked the red handle, alarms shrieked, and the room became a stampede of diamonds and terror.

Lucian strode against the crowd. “Adrian, what the hell are you doing?”

“Saving your guests.”

Lucian glanced at the auction display. Lot thirteen was a simple silver music box. His face drained of color.

“Oh, God,” he said. “Not again.”